


this is how hunger strikes begin

by eldritchbee



Series: hope side / despair side [8]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Super Dangan Ronpa 2.5
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Discovering emotions, During Canon, Eye Trauma, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jabberwock Island (Dangan Ronpa), Jealousy, Komaeda Nagito Being Komaeda Nagito, M/M, Post-Canon, Sharing a Body, The Despair Family Loves Everyone Except Kamukura, sort of canon compliant, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 14:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21459238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritchbee/pseuds/eldritchbee
Summary: "Hinata Hajime? Who is this person? He isn’t me, even if he’s inside of me.”“Isn’t that fun? We’re unlocking a new character inside of you, then. You can get to know him, he’ll be your avatar, okay?"---“We both know how this is going to go,” Kamukura sighs, closing his eyes like he would fall asleep there. Komaeda shakes him.“Yes, yes, yes, how boring how boring,” he sings. “A common, useless person such as me will just bore someone like you to death one day. So long as it ends with Hinata coming back out I really don’t care what you think of it.”---Komaeda hates Kamukura, and would basically do anything to get Hinata back. Kamukura hates being out anyway, so it'll all work out in the end, right?Right?Meanwhile, glitches to the past reveal just why Kamukura hasn't found "Her" just yet.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Kamukura Izuru, Hinata Hajime/Kamukura Izuru/Nanami Chiaki, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Nanami Chiaki, Kamukura Izuru & Komaeda Nagito
Series: hope side / despair side [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472216
Comments: 4
Kudos: 98





	this is how hunger strikes begin

**Author's Note:**

> My next fic is going to be softer and include more Nanami, swear to god.
> 
> (Some canon scenes rewritten and new pieces pushed in. So, semi canon compliant. The choking isn't supposed to be a kink either, okay bye.)

_I can't get in if you don't let out_  
_I think too quick and I talk too loud_

**PROLOGUE (I)  
** **or: the end of the end of the world**

It starts here:

A dark room, _ swaying swaying swaying _ softly or roughly or somewhere in between. Even soft emotion is exciting and new, and so the feeling of _ calm _ like being _ rocked _ is, too, something to find interest in. A dark room, _ rocking rocking rocking _ so you can’t sleep, and so the only thing you do is close your eyes and analyze and calculate each rock, always searching for what was predictable in the unpredictable. And then it becomes boring again.

Wash, cycle, repeat.

It tips once, something inside you tips with it, though it balances on the second tip. No one had thought to check the pockets on the inside of your blazer, and so she had promised you added excitement. Difficult to analyze, hard to predict, would take a long time to puzzle out.

Like her.

And across you, there’s someone _ talking talking talking _ about _ something something_. You care about _ nothing nothing nothing _ and nothing this person says matters, their rambling and rants and even the way they carefully unwrap their right hand from the burlap and bandages that covered it to show _ hers_. There’s a spark of something in you, and then it’s gone. That’s where the smell came from, that’s why this person with their boring self and boring talent were here. This was a boat, and so the rocking came from that boat, from there things like currents and speed could be calculated with ease. This was a person who pretended innocence and swung through friendliness and fanaticism noted by the sound of his voice, the words he speaks, and the decaying hand he wore from another person who also swung, but harder and less predictably. This person’s talent was _ luck _, and though the wearers of that talent from birth may call it a strong power, you’d found it all too easy and dull to bother with. Nothing touches you anyway.

This person has her hand, but you have her _ brain _ and they seem to sense that when you speak. The more their excitement grows, the more they _ speak speak speak_, the more you know who they are. The less they matter. The world is filled with boring people, and this person is one of them. If talent determines worth, you have all of it, and how boring is it being on the top? From that view, everything could be seen and no one else mattered. 

“I don’t care about any of that.” Inside of _ you_, no one seemed to understand, there was no Hope nor Despair. You’re simple as the monitor on the walls, the camera through which they all peered through.

You’re the one who sets down the piece that brings those things out.

From the top, that’s all you can do.

This was a boat, and along with current and speed you knew who was operating it, where you were going without this person saying, and what was _ there_. _ He’d _ come to you and you’d went without resistance. Fell asleep in the car, in the plane, and woke up here. He never needed to say anything, and neither did you. You watched Luck during his game and knew him an instant before you’d known this one. 

Facts came together in your head: hows and whys and wheres and the information created a map until the answer came and it was _ simple_.

This Luck was soft. And none of them realized being so much lower that inside of him was neither Hope nor Despair. He had Despair in his breast pocket, and Hope in charge of the pods you’ll all be placed in. And you’ll sit, you’ll lay, and set them together -

_ “I’m not going to be able to enter the event.” _

\- and then everything will go black.

And the thought of never knowing, never being _ able _ to know and see what happened after that? The thought of never coming back, because you know the map of your brain and the connections inside better than anyone who’s ever touched it, are the most exciting things you’ll ever know.

The person in front of you says more and you sigh again, looking into the dark corner of the room instead of the window outside the boat. (It’ll take us this long to get here based on this and this and this- ) “You’re boring,” you tell the person. The most exciting thing about them is the knowledge that you’ll never know what they’ll do when the event comes to be.

Their face does… _ something_. Expressions are difficult too, from so high up here, but you’re working to figure it. There’s nothing else _ to _ do, and this one is moving through their emotions. It’s troublesome, when eyes look at you like that. When eyes are on you at _ all_, seeing you as a full human, flesh and blood and bone. Like you’re standing on the same level. You never liked it when she looked on you like that, past her rambling and rants, nails digging into her sister’s skin or your skin until you _ bled_, those times when she _ looked at you_, analyzing you, looking for _ something something something_. 

“... how cold.”

**PROLOGUE (II)  
** **or: roadmaps to your brain**

It starts here: 

A dark room, _ beeping beeping beeping _ softly or roughly or somewhere in between. If you focus you can feel zeroes and ones melting you into one of them. The experience was new, until it wasn’t and you were able to work through the hows and whys of this computer’s extraction. _ Boring_. 

And then something sticks in your brain, tries to _ shake shake shake _ your brain out of place to join the rest piled at the bottom. _ It’s no use_, you think to the machine. _ There’s nothing to put there_. No Hope nor Despair, just the trigger to see them off. The camera through which they’d be watched and the monitors from which they’d watch. Just something that would be shut off forever once the process was done.

A dark room, _ beeping beeping beeping_, and someone across from you starts speaking with a soft voice that somehow lays over those zeroes and ones like it’s made from them. “You’re so sure there’s nothing there?”

“One of the ones who created this made a map of my brain once. He knows me, and I know him and he put the X in the spot where I would disappear.

It’s exciting to see how it will work.”

“You don’t sound excited. Does it make you sad?”

“Hm. Do I sound sad?”

_ Beeping beeping beeping. _

“If this isn’t sadness then I need to recalculate tone of voice. I think it sounds sad. It sounds like something to be sad about.”

“You’re an AI,” you say, and suddenly you’re bored again and the _ beeping beeping beeping _ becomes more annoying than gentle. Something to swat away. “You were made by her, the other creator, weren’t you?”

“My mother was a programmer, she mapped out my brain as well. My other mother was a therapist, she offered information for _that_ software. You know my father it seems, a neurologist. Let me see,” and the voice appears in form, a blank face but one he _ knows_, though how he knows he can’t be certain.

Uncertainty in itself is exciting, until the answer is revealed.

“I was made to be an amalgamation of comfort and security to those being introduced into the system. All three creators worked to create the program that would a version of me whenever a new world was created. This form may be that place of comfort to you.”

“Not to me,” you say, though the idea is curious. 

“What’s your name?” she asks, tipping her head to the side.

“I was called Kamukura Izuru before. I don’t care what you call me now.”

“Ah. Interesting. That doesn’t sound like your name, though. It seems too distant. I don’t have one yet. Hey, hey, let’s play a game. It’ll be a puzzle game. We’ll search for one for you, and one for me. Names we like.”

And then her hands slip - not over your hair or your skin or your scalp - _ into _ your skull, touching the matter underneath that the zeroes and ones can’t shake out.

If you’d known the Neo-World Program would be like this, so many more interesting and new things, you think you would have come long before this. The assault of new senses that came with human brain activity turning to data turning to human again was so great that you couldn’t even take the chance to settle down and analyze it because another would come up right after. You’ve had people touch your brain before, physically crack open your skull with their scalpels trying to perfect it and mold it into the perfect thing you were, the thing so far at the top that _ nothing _ -

“How sad. The reveal of a character you’ve always liked doing something terrible. The one I would call my father helped with that. My mothers wouldn't have approved, had they known. Or, I'm _sure_ they wouldn't have. I think this is _disappointment_. I don’t like that. But I think that’s important to feel, or else it wouldn’t be in my programming.”

_ you’ve had people touch your brain before_, play in your thoughts. But it was entirely different from this. It makes you gasp, makes you catch your breath in your chest - _ but not really, not really because there was no breathing here, no oxygen and no air just zeroes and ones and the lungs were imagined and the heartbeat wasn’t real and _-

“You’re laughing. It’s an odd thing to laugh about. It’s a despairing thought to some, who would laugh because they’re nervous, who would laugh to keep from crying. Perhaps it’s hopeful for some who would _ like _ to disappear, they would laugh in relief. You have neither of those.”

“They cut the connections. The part that connects me here isn’t connected to what you’re looking for. There is no person in this body.”

“Hm. Fascinating. For me, mine is a body and the person is created by others. For you, yours is a body and the person was removed. You are neither a protagonist nor an antagonist. Or so you believe.”

“When you create something perfect you have no need for a person at all,” you say. “That’s what they taught me.”

“You are something to be used by others. So am I.”

“You were created to be therapeutic.”

“I was created to create emotion, yes. I was created to become a person, yes. But I too will be neither protagonist nor antagonist.”

“Once this program is open, I will cease to exist.”

“Don’t be so certain. Once this program is closed, I may be the same. Ah! Here it is.”

“Hm?”

“I win the game!” her voice is more excited now, not the calm and soft her that touched his brain but something more high energy.

“How so?”

“Hinata Hajime.”

There’s something burning, like a thumbprint on a specific part of your brain and someone else’s excitement bleeding into you like lava. You find your virtual self, your “not hands” hands on the zeroes and ones that made up her “brain” as well. “I found what you said was lost. You were wrong, there’s a person right here. And a connection, someone must have missed it.”

It surprises you, but only for a moment. “Of course, humans make mistakes, even those who call themselves the best,” you sigh. “If I were awake I could rectify that mistake easily.

Hinata Hajime? Who is this person? He isn’t me, even if he’s inside of me.”

“Isn’t that fun? We’re unlocking a new character inside of you, then. You can get to know him, he’ll be your avatar, okay?”

“That -” there’s a flash that comes with the burn, a face like the pixelated one in front of you, looking up at you, a handheld game console covering half her face.

“What about me, you’ve stopped searching, it means you’ve hit something too.”

“Nanami Chiaki. I think I remember you.”

As the world turns dark, he hears her laughing.

**PART 1 (I)  
** **or: two birds on a wire**

It starts here: with him and him, _ them_. Hinata and Kamukura. 

They are both much of the time, and most of them think it’s because Hinata would feel guilty just choking Kamukura out of their body.

Hinata wonders often if they realize how much more harmless Kamukura is than they all give him credit for. After all, Kamukura has no interest in the world around them. Inside of him, inside _their_ body, Kamukura sleeps most of the time or barely awake, nestled in the back of their head, fully ambivalent of how Hinata uses their body. Kamukura only slips in, more awake, when Hinata needs help or if something stimulates their brain. When it happens, Hinata only hears the hum in his brain and the pressure like something else filling his skull. It hurts, a sharp pain in his head followed by a dull headache. It came as their first connection to the system as World Ender, the voice of Naegi Makoto, the smell of the world outside of Jabberwock, Munakata’s hands on his (their) shirt collar and the growl in his voice, Mitarai’s first project since the world ended, the feeling of Saionji’s arms weighing down his (their) shoulders while she presses her crocodile tears into his (their) shoulder, the look of Tsumiki treating a small infection in Kuzuryuu’s eye, Kuzuryuu showing him a photo of Natsume, Koizumi’s first picture of his (their) face, the first taste of Hanamura’s cooking, helping Souda with one of his projects to protect them from the outside world, touching the soft fur of the Four Dark Devas of Destruction, Sonia reading out loud something violent and occult, Mioda’s first concert of Hope (which shocked even Kamukura so suddenly it flung him back so hard that Hinata kept his headache for days), the first time Imposter borrowed his (their) identity, being taught by Pekoyama how to use a sword (Kamukura already knew, of course, but Hinata also wanted to have that confidence in himself, and the initial rush was exciting even for _him_), hearing the loudest sound in the world come from the bathroom after Nidai went in, Akane's yell of triumph when she got a hit in on Coach Nidai for the first time since Despair, Komaeda’s cold left hand, his (their) first kiss, first time having sex, memories of Nanami memories of Nanami memories of N

_ (those came in waves) _

and then the headache would fade away. Kamukura would fall back or fall asleep, tired and bored within, usually, minutes at the very most. For those repetitive items he wouldn’t come back, didn’t need to.

Still, there was the space and Hinata allowed it to stay open, and so they were still _ they_. Most of the time.

Munakata, for one, deals with both of them at the same time. Their time in Souda’s workshop belongs to both of them, Hinata laughing and groaning while Kamukura’s hands monotonously fixed this or that (_so boring _ would slip from his mouth from time to time, and Souda’s mouth would twitch ever so slightly). Aiding Tsumiki in her care takes his calming presence and Kamukura’s additional knowledge. Tending to communications, computers, simple technical things that Hinata couldn’t do alone. That belonged to both of them in equal measure. 

Then there was all Hinata. The emotional moments. After the first time, every other kiss was purely him. Every exasperated sigh as he patted Saionji’s head while she shifted from crying to snickering was him. Anyone who put their head on his lap put their head on Hinata’s lap alone. The pictures he took of or for Koizumi - obvious by their poor, amateur quality, quality that made her laugh and post them up on the board they kept for each other - were him. Having Pekoyama _ beat the hell out of him _ with her lessons was all him. Being an ear and eye for Mioda and Saionji’s juxtaposing concerts was him, along with the tight grin and the headache that came after.

And then

there was _ all Kamukura_.

No one approached him then.

Kamukura was the one who saved everyone, determined how to bring everyone back and put it into place while Hinata slept. But he didn’t do it for _ them_, they knew, and Hinata knew as well. He did it for Hinata, because it’s what Hinata asked him to do, because Hinata had pushed Kamukura in full control of their brain and wouldn’t come out until it was done

no matter how bored or tired Kamukura got.

(The way they were blocked, their time, how much space there was. In the end, it was the one thing Hinata was better at than Kamukura.

That and his extreme array of emotion, of course.

He was surprisingly stubborn with both, when he wanted to be.)

(It starts here: Komaeda’s cold metal thumb pressing hard against a blood red left eye and a harsh whisper in his ear

_ “You disgust me, you ugly false hope. Disappear.” _

And, before Hinata can stop him, Kamukura is twisting Komaeda’s wrist with a yawn, _ “will you ever say anything new? You’re so boring.” _

Souda will have to fix that later.)

**PART 1 (II)  
** **or: lethargy**

It starts here: a dark room with a small light. Comfortable, small, real and palpable. No beeping, no zeroes and ones, no more bodies in pods and worrying whether or not they’ll come back. _ No missing files_. A place with books - not enough to be called a library (but then where in this world anymore can have something so luxurious aside from the old Hope’s Peak) - but a healthy amount shipped in from the mainland of the Future Foundation to stimulate those left on Jabberwock Island. A healthy amount for those left except for _ him_. 

Sometimes, his feelings, those arrays of emotion are too much for Hinata. He’s aware, he knows, his own World Ender system tells him so: this isn’t the right way to deal with your problems, with your guilt

but he’s still stubborn, and so he shoves Kamukura in front and hides away for days.

And for the time, everyone else sits on edge, afraid.

Except for _ him_.

When he found out those days, when Komaeda realized, there was no fear. There was only _ fury_. Komaeda's own brand of it, ice cold and smiling with a sense of superiority and an edge of mocking. 

In his delirious days as a Servant, he remembers little Kemuri Jataro speaking eloquently of the idea of _ hate_. Hate so deep that the hated object can’t even be feared, no matter how threatening it became. He doesn’t even have the slightest fear of Kamukura, like the others. Disgust and loathing black all of that out when he sees Hinata’s left eye. When he sees Hinata grow cold.

(He wonders sometimes if he even hates Kamukura more than _ Enoshima_, though he thinks logically that can’t be possible.

No matter.)

There’s no real scuffle between them, there never really is. When Komaeda comes into the little library where Kamukura sits, throwing books over his shoulder every so often. There’s a small pile around him, things he’s already read or things he can guess the contents of within the first few words. _ Boring_, he flips a page, _ boring_, tosses it, _ boring boring boring bo _ -

“How selfish you’re being. You know, other people might want to read those one day.”

Kamukura only pauses. From here, the body in front of him is turned to the side. He’s glad for it, the profile facing him shows the red eye instead of the green.

Another book is tossed to the side, like Komaeda never said a word at all.

He advances.

His cold left hand reaches forward until it can grasp the side of Kamukura’s head, grip his hair and _ pull _ and then _ push _his head forward towards the desk. Being brutal to this body is hard for Komaeda, and so despite how it may look from the outside, Kamukura feels little pain even with his head and body positioned so awkwardly against the table. One time he’d been too rough, burned through with anger that he’d cracked Kamukura’s head against a wall so hard it had bruised the face, and when Hinata came back holding ice packs against his cheek Komaeda couldn’t look at him until he healed.

(He thinks he hates Kamukura more even than Enoshima now, purely _ because _ he can’t be brutal. He can’t cut Kamukura to pieces, can’t hurt him without damaging Hinata as well.

Even now, even this soft, he always hesitates.)

“We both know how this is going to go,” Kamukura sighs, closing his eyes like he would fall asleep there. Komaeda shakes him.

“Yes, yes, yes, how boring how boring,” he sings. “A common, useless person such as me will just _ bore _ someone like _ you _ to _ death _ one day. So long as it ends with Hinata coming back out I really don’t care what you think of it.”

Kamukura hums, and for a long moment they stay like that.

And then, Kamukura’s fingers creep up against Komaeda’s. “Souda did a mediocre job the last time, it’s been a while since I’ve seen his latest repair up close. Haji -”

A disgusted sound comes from Komaeda’s voice as he starts to pull away, though this time it’s Kamukura who reaches back, grabbing Komaeda’s forearm and twisting it to bring him down against the table. He’s stronger even than Nidai it feels, but unlike so how Nidai would touch him. Kamukura is rough. Komaeda’s body is hardly treated as a body at all, more an experiment of some sort, no better than a doll. 

Then, that isn’t special treatment. Hinata will say Kamukura isn’t cruel, but only because he’s indifferent. _ Still dangerous _, because he doesn’t know nor care about right and wrong and cruelty and kindness no matter how hard Hinata tries. 

“It’s better this time. Does it still swell and ache in humidity, or burn in the cold? Hajim -”

“You should stop calling him that in front of me. It’s rather mean.”

“Why?”

“You’re overly familiar with the body you stole, you little parasite,” he laughs, and it almost sounds pleasant. 

“Hajime. Hajime asked me if there was any way to fix that. Does it -”

“I’m not telling!” Komaeda sings. “So there _ are _ things he doesn’t tell you, I’m grateful, I really am lucky that there’s _ something _ I know more about than you.”

“You’re stupid to be surprised by that.” Kamukura lets go, steps back, and lets Komaeda crumple to the ground. “He won’t come out so easily, and you’re an annoying little gnat.” Komaeda feels hands on him again, one around his waist and one pulling hard at his collar. And then he’s dropped to the ground again and the door closes between him and the library. When he tries to turn the knob again he finds it locked.

**PART 2  
** **or: anti-venom**

When Komaeda comes up the next day he finds Koizumi standing by the door, a tray in her arms. There’s a _ glitch _ in his chest, a feeling like deja vu that he pushes away. “Well what are you doing here?”

She’s immediately defensive.

“Wh -? Why else? It’s been _ two days _ and he hasn’t come out at all.”

“Ah, yes. If only we could let him starve.”

“I’m _ not _ listening to you this time. Hinata didn’t come out the _ last _ time we tried to just _ wait him out_, so -”

Komaeda waves a hand. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Is the door still locked then?”

Koizumi starts to turn red. She opens her mouth and closes it again quick.

“Oh! I see!” Komaeda smiles. “You’ve become quite the coward, haven’t you Koizumi?” There are scars up and down her arms he knows, self inflicted or _ allowed_. She’s seen colder looking faces than Kamukura’s, filmed an entire killing game and broadcast it to the world without batting a lash. But for this…

“Shut up, Komaeda. I can’t separate them like you can.”

He can _ separate _ them. He laughs at the thought and holds out his arms. “Here, I’ll bring it to him. I’ll even feed him myself if I have to.”

“Ugh. No. I’ll -”

“Ma-hi-ru!” Saionji cuts her off, wrapping her arms around Koizumi from behind. “You said it wouldn’t _ long_, come _ on_.” She looks over Koizumi’s shoulder at Komaeda, cheek puffed. “What, are you playing gatekeeper for your _ boyfriend_?”

Komaeda holds his hands up. “I claim no relationship to that _ thing_, I just got here as well! I think the door may be locked.”

He steps forward then and turns the knob, it opens easily. “Or not! The way you were standing here, Koizumi, I was sure you’d tried at least once! You really are -”

he finds the tray shoved into his hands. “Fine. But make sure he _ eats _ it.”

Saionji covers her mouth with her hand, snickering. “How romantic, are you going to _ feed him_?”

The image of that turns tender in his mind and makes him feel sick. He can _ separate _ them, Koizumi had said. If only he could, then hurting Kamukura and holding Hinata after would be so much easier than this. “Nasty,” he says through his teeth, but he doesn’t say anything when Saionji pulls Koizumi away, though he appreciates the way Koizumi spares him a glance. “Don’t waste sympathy on someone like me, Koizumi. I’m used to being so _ unlucky _ with him.”

***

It’s only when Komaeda sets the tray down on the table in front of Kamukura does he realize the way his body is _ trembling _from hunger. He’d been staring at the ceiling before that, mapping out his tie in his fingers for who-knows-how-long.

“You’re a rude little thief,” Komaeda says. “Not taking care of the body you’ve invaded. I’m surprised you haven’t fainted from hunger like last time.”

“Only because you came earlier. You tried to starve Hajime -” Komaeda winces “- out last time, I remember. It didn’t work. The only thing that worked was… well he didn’t like that you did that. Will you do it again anyway?” He wants to shove Kamukura’s face into the soft rice Koizumi had laid out, wants to force him into a corner so Kamukura has no choice but to retaliate. So they have no choice but to shock Hinata awake.

He touches his left wrist

and walks out instead.

**PART 3   
** **or: one day, robots will cry**

“What made him so upset this time?” Komaeda is laying across the table now, papers and books crumpled and prodding his back haphazardly. When he waltzed in this time to see Kamukura separating and scribbling on papers and in books he couldn’t help but ruin it. Any mental stimulation for Kamukura only meant more time for him, after all. “Hinata. He seemed perfectly fine before you showed your ugly face.”

“We have the same face.”

“You’re stupid to think that,” he mocks, his left hand reaching up again to smooth the eyebrow over his dull green eye.

“Ask him when he comes back,” Kamukura sighs and then stands, moving to the bookshelves to skim over the titles. The words don’t even register anymore, not when Kamukura already memorized the title and placement of every book in the room. When he finally reaches out its only to hook a finger behind a spine and tug it so it falls to the ground. His mind feels hollow when Hinata sleeps, always a little lightheaded and dreamy as he wanders around the room he confines himself in. Koizumi had come in, hours after she’d left Komaeda with the tray, to bring it back. She’d returned the books Kamukura had previously dropped to the shelves and tried to speak to him, amicably, as she would with Hinata. It had only made his head hurt worse.

“Though I suspect it’s all just the same. It’s about that file.”

Another _ glitch_, but he knows this one better than deja vu. _ That file_, that Kamukura and Hinata both called after the dead classmate “Nanami Chiaki”. _ That file _ that World Ender would impart upon everything in the system, unwilling to let it be forgotten, attempting to draw it out of sleep or death or what-be-it. Komaeda’s own heart swells just thinking of it

and and then shrinks again when Kamukura comes to stand over him. _ That file. _ “You’re so perfect,” Komaeda says coldly. “Can’t you get her back? Isn’t that the _ purpose _ of you staying around?”

“Is that what you think? Is this what they call ‘blinded by love’?”

Komaeda wants to rip his eye out, force _ some _ expressions out of his face. He wants to cry, to tug that body down and beg it to smile at him or scowl at him or roll its eyes. He wants to kick that body aside like the shell it was now and pay it no more mind, a disgusting _ worthless _thing like that and a weak soul that fled it. He wants to force it down and mold it with his hands, back to what it was before someone cracked its skull open. He wants to reach deep and tear Hinata’s soul out. He wants to press his face against his chest and feel soft hands in his hair, hear that familiar groan.

“Did Munakata bring you these things?” he asks instead, reaching behind his back to rip out a paper, leaving half of it behind. He holds it over his head. “He’s always doing unnecessary things like this. We should have left that man on the boat and set him to sea.”

There’s a knock at the door, Koizumi peeking her head in through the door. When she sees the two of them there, she turns bright red and turns to slam the door closed. “Oh I hope she didn’t get the wrong idea.” Komaeda hops up and follows her out, calling her name. She stops, and they both jump when they hear the lock click. Komaeda laughs without humor, “seems he’s bored of us both now. I wonder what he does when he locks up. What do you think, Koizumi?” But she’s still looking away, anywhere but at him, face red.

“Sorry to ruin your _ private time_,” she says, a bite in her tone to cover up her embarrassment.

“I hope you don’t think I would actually _ touch _ that thing,” he sighs, waving a hand.

“Souda asked me to see what… _ he _ was doing with the work Munakata had given him. Apparently Munakata had taken it away from Souda,” is her excuse, a huff of a sigh following after her words. “Like he couldn’t do it _ himself _ -”

“Sounds like him, doing such unnecessary things.”

“Souda?”

“Oh, him too. But Munakata. The last thing we need is _ that thing _ to stay longer. I’ll go and tell Souda I ruined all that work for the both of them. Oh, and _ that thing _ ruined your nice cleaning job. Very rude of him, you know?” 

He’s still smiling, and the look on his face makes Koizumi shudder. When he looks down at his hand, despite the cold metal there he swears he can still feel Hinata… _ Kamukura’s _ brow.

“I hate him,” he tells her in a hushed tone, like a secret. “I hate him more than anyone else.” And it is a secret, sort of. Half of a secret. He can’t tell Koizumi, or anyone else, that separating them from each other is impossible even for him. _ That’s why I hate you more than anyone else. _

She looks at him finally, it's softer than he expected her to be. It hurts. And then, she clamps down on his right sleeve, pulling him forward.

“Come on then, _ you _ want to tell Munakata you messed up his papers? Standing around outside this room isn't going to help you with that! Come on.”

**PART 4 (I)  
** **or: i love the things you hate about yourself**

It starts here: just outside the hotel, by the pool.

“Why did you do that?” she sounds tired, exhausted to her bones, more so than usual. Hinata’s in his room, she knows, hands over his face, suffering. So is everyone else. It frustrates her more than anything to come out and see Komaeda there, sitting by the pool and staring at the moon. “That was cruel, that was so cruel.” When she remembers the events, just hours ago, she feels like crying. This must be what they told her when she was programmed, _ remnants of Despair _. Maybe this was just the start, they were showing their true colors, and it started with Hanamura and Komaeda.

(No, she can’t think like that. As the therapeutic source, the ‘student council’ of sorts, she couldn’t think like that.

She shouldn’t even be _ able _ to think like that.

So angry, so spiteful.)

“You have to despair before you feel true hope,” he says breezily. “I didn’t _ plan _ on Togami or Hanamura dying. It was supposed to be _ me _.”

She furrows her brow. Hates it. Shouldn’t be feeling something like that, _ hate_.

She can’t think that way. So instead she thinks of the others, their deep sadness over the deaths of both the victim of the killer. She thinks of _ Hinata’s _ face most of all. Streaked with more betrayal than all the rest of them combined.

She thinks about Komaeda’s true aim, a world full of hope, though his ways were so, so wrong.

“No one deserves to die,” she says. “You shouldn’t think that.”

“What does it matter what I think, now does it? Trash like me -”

“Stop.”

She hates that, hates him for saying that so easily and breezily like when he flipped arguments and sides during the trial tonight. Part of her wonders if he’s the one who brought the virus in from the outside. She could _ almost _ hate the person who’d done that, and could _ almost _ hate _ him _ for it. Almost. She can’t hate any of them, especially not someone who sat there with a smile on his face and said he was planning on _ dying _ here, that he was Trash, that he was _ lesser _. It was that very thought, she knows, that led to the tragedies outside of this game, that led to everyone here being forced to start over. 

The way she sees things, the way she’s been programmed, life was a beautiful thing. Along with her creators, her mothers and father and siblings, there was Naegi. He had also instilled in her, _ begged _ her mother to instill in her his own beliefs about people, the ones she was with. _ They could be good again. Even after all of this, even Komaeda_, though he was making it hard to believe right now, the way he was smiling at her. 

Nanami tries then to sort out her feelings. _ Hate _ is hard, she doesn’t hate, she _ can’t _ hate. And there was something else, deep down, she wonders if that’s what Naegi had her mother put in. _ Sadness_.

Sadness. That was it.

She was _ sad _ for him. “Stop.” She goes to sit down next to him. “_I _don’t want you to die. I don’t want anyone else to die. Please don’t die.”

That was what she was programmed to think, right?

That’s all, right?

“I’m sorry, Nanami,” he says then, and she’s surprised by the tone in his voice. Maybe he’s _ sad_. Maybe he’s sad for _ himself_. Maybe he really _ is _ sad for Togami and Hanamura, as much as he acts otherwise. Maybe he’s sad for the way Hinata looked at him like his whole world had broken apart. Maybe he was sad because of what she said, because she was sitting here begging him to live, and maybe he really, genuinely, truly didn’t want to. (She seems to remember someone’s apathy, one of them feeling like they wanted to disappear, before they all solidified into the system and the data was beyond her reach.

But, no, that didn’t feel like how Komaeda felt now.)

There were other words, other emotions, and she tried to draw them up.

It was surprisingly easy. 

Maybe because one of her mothers was a therapist.

So, what did he look at now while looking at the moon? Was it regret? Was he lonely? “You always separate yourself from everyone else,” she says, trying to prompt him into giving her some sort of clue. _ She was supposed to be therapeutic_, right?

But he looks at her instead, and his grin comes back. That look fading like it never existed in the first place.

“So do you, Nanami.”

She didn’t have a real, flesh and blood heart. She never did. And so, she shouldn’t know what it feels like to have your heart _ drop_. But, that might just be the only way to describe the feeling Komaeda had elicited with his words. 

She stands, doesn’t meet his eye. He looks like he’s won something, and she decides it’s not a game she wants to play. It’s no friendly competition right now, he’s trying to goad her.

(Does he _ want _ people to hate him? To say the things he says about himself? Really? Truly?) 

She feels like she can’t be around him anymore, it’ll hurt more. She’s supposed to pick him apart, so that Usami can smooth down the edges. But, Komaeda doesn’t make that easy. The way he says he feels about himself, the way he was in the courtroom, the calm way he looked at the moon, they all felt so different. She’s all jumbled inside, and he’s only making it worse and worse. 

What else should she be feeling?

What _ shouldn’t _she?

***

She stands, arms wrapped around herself in the courtroom, Komaeda's gruesome assisted suicide still clear in her mind. 

She wishes she could erase it as easily as one would a file.

The aftermath of the playroom had given her so much Hope, even with Komaeda acting so strange. Something warm had built in her then, something she recognized reaching out to touch Hinata’s hand and pull him away from the Final Death Room. Something she recognized when she saw his face when Komaeda spat those words at him the way he did. _ A nobody who forgot he was a nobody_. There was the overwhelming desire to shove him away then. 

And then the overwhelming desire to _ understand_.

When they’d left the playroom, she’d tried to catch up with him. Ask him why, _ why _ was he treating everyone like that. (Why was he treating _ Hinata _ like that, why did it matter, why why why why -?

she’d been asking that a lot, lately.

Should she be?)

He brushes her off, like everyone else, with a grin like he’s baring his teeth, like he’s ready to rip someone’s throat out, like someone’s sliced and diced him up a thousand times. “I don’t have the _ time _ for worthless talk,” and he holds that file under his arm like it’s a lifesource. It’s that thing, she thinks, and she wishes she could go back and reset the game so he never got it. Maybe she wishes that instead of him, _ Hinata _ -

She doesn’t ask Hinata then, knows she couldn’t with his face looking so pained.

(“We can’t do anything to stop this,” she says again to Usami - _ Monomi _ \- as she doodles in the little journal she keeps there. She’s crying then, Monomi’s little paws touch her cheek and she wonders if she thought hard enough, would they slip right through? Would they see her programming fizzing and fading, going all wrong. Because she was only supposed to _ not hate _ them, was only supposed to _ care _ for them and instead -

“I think I’m broken. I love them. I love all of them,” she sobs. “I love them so much, I’ll do anything for them.”

Monomi’s paws slide to her chest.

“Me too.”)

When the details come out, where all those horrible wounds can’t even be considered suicidal without the _ accomplice_, she shakes. The accomplice is the traitor, _ the accomplice is the traitor_, member of the World Enders, Monomi’s partner. Of course it would be, of course it would. When she’s starting to learn what _ love _ was, when she looked at those wounds and wanted to cry, not just because of the idea of _ death _ and this _ game _ and _ despair _, but because despite all he was she loved Komaeda too. Because his grin, the way her bared his teeth, was so painful, and the way he spoke about Hinata on the laptop was so choked.

The traitor.

For a moment, she almost hopes he made a mistake.

But, no, no. What a disservice to him, what a disservice to _ herself_, what she’s learned about him, what she’s filed away, what she’s decided she cares about. He had faith in himself.

She had to have faith in him.

Hinata had to put his faith in both of them.

She doesn’t sob with the verdict, and doesn’t cry when the Tetris blocks crash around. She holds Monomi close, and doesn’t close her eyes. Everything goes dark anyway, and she brushes her fingers through the minds of the dead as her programming - her _ soul_? - splits into billions of zeros and ones.

(When she opens her eyes again, it’s to reach out to Hinata. To _ beg _ him. To be that therapeutic source, that student council

no, to be the one that _ loves _ him. Loves them all.

_ You always separate yourself from everyone else. _

_ So do you. _)

*** 

(When Komaeda’s brain unravels itself, starts to wake as the World Ender pulls it out, she hovers invisible by his side.

_ You always separate yourself from everyone else. _

No, not anymore.)

He remembers it echoing through his head when he wakes up, when he sees Hinata’s face, when Souda and Kuzuryuu are there at the doorway. It was soft, and he tells Hinata about it later, fingers brushing away tears as he cries.

**PART 4 (II)  
** **or: cough it out**

Later, Souda frets. “Dude, dude, I’m sorry, man, I didn’t know what Munakata wanted with them. They were just junk ideas for the Monobeasts, shit, I didn’t know he was gonna -” but Komaeda leans his head on Souda’s shoulder and that quiets him down. He counts the fingers on Souda’s own hands: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven clutching fabric. Three missing, two unaccounted for, the third buried on the island somewhere only the original survivors knew.

“We should just kill him,” Kuzuryuu says easily, scratching the empty socket underneath his eye-patch. Tsumiki grabs at his hand, crying:

“Don’t do that! I told you don’t _ doooo _that! You’ll get an infection again!”

“Dude… dude,” Souda says, voice shaking. “It’s been a long time, like a couple weeks now. Usually these spells last like, one week, tops. Like, okay, you know it was longer before, when you know… we thought you guys were dead, _ you know_. But he was actually _ doing _ something then. Now it’s like, you know, you know… what if this time he doesn’t come b -” the rest of his words are muffled when Komaeda gently covers his mouth with his right hand. Welcomes the hot breath on his palm. At the same time, Kuzuryuu stands, nearly knocking Tsumiki aside.

“Shit, don’t,” he shakes a finger at Souda, “just _ don’t_.”

“Don’t,” Komaeda repeats as he removes his hand from Souda’s mouth.

“Can’t you just, like, do what you did last time? That seemed to snap him out pretty good,” Souda says.

Komaeda laughs. “I suppose it’s my luck, isn’t it? If the only way to get Hinata back is to snap my wrist again. You know, that thing says you’re getting more refined in your repairs, Souda.” 

Souda frowns, “Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean like… I mean…”

“Tsumiki, in case he chooses the non-mechanical arm, do you have enough equipment to fix me?”

Tsumiki twitches at the side, rolling and unrolling bandages over her wrists tight. “Um…” she squeaks. “Um. Maybe if we figured out what this was all about, we could help him. Hinata, I mean. And… I suppose… _ him _ too, I’m sure he hates being here too. He always seems to hate being here…” she gets quieter and quieter until she trails off completely. 

“Nanami Chiaki,” Komaeda says. “That’s the theory. That’s what it always seems to be about.” He wonders if he should be jealous. He’s more jealous of _ Kamukura_. At least Nanami seemed to be something that brought them all a softness to the edges and corners despair had left them all with. “Nanami Chiaki.”

Souda nods, and Komaeda notices tears starting to form in his eyes.

“Alright, well then why isn’t that bastard in the computer room trying to _ figure something out_,” Kuzuryuu snaps. 

None of them have an answer.

**PART 5 (I)  
** **or: blurryface**

He sits in front of himself. They sit across from each other.

This is a courtroom and there is only them.

_ Nihil nihil nihil nihil. _

There is only them, all staring at each other, and one bent over himself as if trying to shut the rest out. _ You are Kamukura Izuru. _

_ If you leave this place, Hinata Hajime will cease to exist. _

_ Nihil nihil nihil nihil. _

“Why can’t we just stay here forever?”

But then there’s her.

(“Because you don’t belong here. I’m part of the game, but you -”)

_ Nihil nihil nihil nihil _. 

They are staring at each other, all of them, at each other. _ The academy betrayed me. Nothing matters, I don’t matter. I’m just a reserve student. I can’t do anything. If I go back, I disappear. I’m Kamukura Izuru, I’m Kamukura Izuru, I have nothing, there’s no hope, there’s n _ -

“That’s wrong!”

And there she is again. It isn’t just him she reaches out to but _ him _ as well. And while Hinata is clinging desperately to her, asking _ how how how _ , _ he _ feels something else entirely. Fingers, not fingers, that enter his very mind and pull out the zeros and ones inside. “Hinata Hajime, I won the game. Kamukura Izuru, I lost parts too. You really _ were _ the antagonist of the game, you brought the virus here.”

“Mm, but for once, _I _ lost,” Kamukura says as the courtroom shatters around them. _ Nihil nihil nihil nihil_. But she brought Hope and it smashed through all of Kamukura to reach

_ Hinata _ drowning at the bottom. “It was an interesting run. I’m glad I didn’t disappear just yet. Going back would be so boring, though. I hope you win again. About the miracle.

I’d like it if I disappeared. Let him take this body again.”

He’s clinging to her and he’s not, they are the same but different, and this Nanami Chiaki oscillates between the both of them. 

“He has something to live for.”

Nanami Chiaki explores his mind, pulling and tugging in ways that make Hinata shudder as well. “Well, that’s a lie. Just because he deserves to exist, doesn’t mean you _ don’t_. You know, we both lost

he wants me to exist beyond this program, too.

Maybe neither of us will disappear, like we were supposed to.”

Kamukura Izuru’s entire pixelated body seems to glitch at that, an annoyance that seemed to take over his entire brain as part of Nanami held tightly to Hinata. “I _ want _ to disappear. That’s what he should be doing now, right?” (He feels each word _ hope _ and _ future _ crashing into his body, breaking it from the inside out. _ She’s wrong_, or so he hopes

and that feeling, _ he hopes_, is enough to have him come back together.)

“I want to disappear,” he tells her.

She ignores him, looks at Hinata again, that second world, the glitch that made up the two of them. “You’ll remember me too, right? Right? And then I won’t disappear either. All of you, if you remember.”

“Annoying. You’re annoying me.”

“But I’m not boring you.” She smiles.

“Not yet.”

“It’s ending now.” And Kamukura sees Hinata, like he’s inhaling the room around him. And Kamukura realizes something new, a surprise, because Hinata’s inhaling _ him _ in as well. Pulling him back after shattering him apart, allowing him back into his body. _ Demanding _ him. “You’re part of his past, so you’ll be part of his future too.”

He closes his eyes, lets himself be broken down and breathed in.

“I’d rather disappear.”

“You said that already,” she puffs out her cheeks. “Don’t be stupid. Don’t say things like that. Me and Hinata, we won’t let you. Live peacefully together, and no more killing, and no more hurting, and no more wanting to disappear.” And then, that soft smile. “Hey, hey! Look at me. Deeper. He could see my feelings for all of you, but you can see something different.

We’ll meet again.”

He thinks she’s probably right, the way things have gone already. The way the numbers that made her up swirled through his mind.

(It’s Hinata’s voice that says it, but it’s the first emotion that strikes Kamukura’s heart upon waking:

_ Nanami. _

_ Thank you._)

They wake in the real world, head feeling like it was split in two.

“We’ll meet again,” they mumble. And that’s that.

**PART 5 (II)  
** **or: i’m dying not to hurt you**

Komaeda perches on the arm of the chair, body closer to Kamukura than he _ really _ wants to be. Kamukura doesn’t seem the least bit worried, which bothers him even more. “If it’s about Nanami Chiaki, why aren’t you in the computer room right now?”

Kamukura sighs. Curls up and leans away on the other arm. Komaeda doesn’t let himself be ignored, he stretches his legs across the armchair to the other arm, trapping Kamukura in. 

“He doesn’t keep me around for that,” Kamukura says. “You know that, you’re not as stupid as you play.”

“Oh, I know. He’s told me, he feels _ bad_. As much as I try to convince him otherwise, _ you’re a person too_, he tells me. Snuffing you out would be like _ killing_, and he’s done with that. He’s _ responsible _ for you, even compared you to an infuriating little brother. He even calls you _ Izuru_. And you get to call him _ Hajime_. Makes me vomit. It doesn’t change things. If it’s about Nanami Chiaki then why aren’t you doing _ that _ instead of sitting in here for nearly two weeks in a body that doesn’t belong to you.” Komaeda leans in, “we’d like that body back, you know. _ I _ would like that body back.”

Kamukura looks him directly in the eye then.

Komaeda stares back, brows raised.

“For you, shouldn’t something terrible happen before something you _ want _ does?”

Komaeda grins and holds out his right arm. “Do you want to break another wrist? I’ll give you this one this time. I’ve already tortured Souda enough this week, and I think Tsumiki’s prepared for it.”

Kamukura’s fingers wrap around the wrist, thumb pressing into his pulse. “The price should be worse this time around, I think.”

“So be it. How about this, either you hurt me to get him back or I get Nidai and Owari to come in and drag you to the operations room and drag that file back to life.”

So, Kamukura sighs. And then knocks Komaeda aside and onto the table in front of them. Gasping, Komaeda looks to the door, hoping no one had heard the sound there. Kamukura stands over him, and with a surprising ease wraps his fingers around Komaeda’s throat. “You might be surprised, but it’s the only thing right now that’s difficult for me. It’s something Hajime is better at, _ mental blocks_.” He presses down, and Komaeda gasps again for air. “You all have your _ glitches_, so do I. There’s a feeling, one that belongs to me that I can’t access because of him. I’ve tried, you know, but I need it to find her.” _ Her_, _ Hajime_, Komaeda coughs, spit instead of the curses he wanted to say. “Suppressed guilt, fear of rejection, fear of ruining her or making her _ different_, he does it without even knowing how to stop. It’s… interesting. I like playing with them, the blocks, it’s the one thing I can’t break. And it’s the only thing Hajime wants me to break in our mind.” _ Our mind_, Komaeda thrashes. “That _ feeling_,” he mumbles, and presses down harder

and harder

and harder

and Komaeda feels his lungs start to burn, he’s clawing at the hands around his neck, thrashing thrashing thrashing, Kamukura says something but he can’t hear, he coughs, spits, can’t see anymore, can’t

and then hears a crash. The hands are off his throat and he breathes deep, crawling away from the table overturned on the ground. When he looks back he sees the armchair had also toppled over, and the other body in the room doubled over it, burying his forehead into the leg. He’s gasping too, and when Komaeda looks closer he sees tears in his eyes. He smiles, if his heart wasn’t already racing to keep the blood flowing to his brain he feels like it would be speeding up now.

He opens his mouth. _ You’re back_, he tries to say, but can’t get the words out.

“Fuck, fuck. What the fuck. What the _ fuck _ is wrong with you? Hey!” It’s Hinata moving forward now, Hinata’s hands on his collar now pulling him forward. “What if he _ killed _ you? What the _ fuck _ is your problem.” It’s Hinata shaking him now, Hinata saying, “I should punch you, what the _ fuck_. Can you get up? You suicidal _ asshole_.”

“I knew,” Komaeda coughs. “You.”

He can’t get the words out, but Hinata seems to understand him anyway. “What if I _ didn’t_?”

Komaeda shakes his head, rubbing his throat with his right hand. _ Horrible luck _, that’s what it took. He wonders if it’s going to get worse and worse. What could be worse luck than this? He doesn’t dare think that. Hinata seems to sense that too. He lets go and rubs his hands over his face, then looks down on them with an afterthought of horror. Hinata's hands shaking, there’s tears in his eyes. Komaeda wants to laugh with relief at that look on his face. It’s probably a good thing that he can’t. He pitches forward instead, wraps his arms around Hinata’s shoulders.

Hinata touches the back of his head.

“Look, okay, fine. I’m sorry.” He can hear Hinata’s voice shake and crack. “Just don’t fucking -” Hinata tips his cheek against Komaeda’s head, and then stands up suddenly. “I’m going to get Tsumiki. Stay here.”

He does.

**EPILOGUE (I)  
** **or: my favorite color is you**

It ends like this: a dark place in the back of his head, where Kamukura slowly drifts off to sleep as Hinata bows his head down. 

There are apologies, over and over that Kamukura doesn’t care to hear, and he barely notices the way that Souda tackles him in a hug or the way Kuzuryuu punches him in the shoulder hard enough to make Hinata yelp. He makes promises and promises and promises that Kamukura yawns at, and inside Hinata’s head he adds his own “desire”:

_ Hajime? don’t make me stay outside for so long, it’s so boring out there _

“Sorry.”

_ the dirt’s face when I was crushing his windpipe was the most interesting thing that happened that whole time _

“Is that a threat? Don’t _ ever _ do that a-fucking-gain.”

_ he asked me to… ah - _

there’s a cold, metal chill that touches the back of their neck, and a soft, sweet, still raw voice makes a shiver run up Hinata’s spine. “Are you apologizing to that monster? Don’t give it the time of day, Hi-na-ta.” Komaeda’s chin slides over Hinata’s shoulder, and his hair tickles Hinata’s cheek. “And don’t worry, that _ thing _ didn’t hurt me at all.” Not a lie, as much as his throat hurt right now he barely registered the pain so long as he knew it was _Hinata_ he was talking to. “It would have hurt worse if he let me be and the hope inside you was snuffed out forever.”

“You sure the _ lack of oxygen to your brain _ didn’t cause any damage? Because you’re acting like your old _ twisted _ suicidal self.”

“Well if _ you _ get to act like your old _ boring _ suicidal self for three whole weeks why can’t I for a few days?”

Hinata groans. “You got me there.”

“Ah, did the monster hear that? Did it get the joke? _ Boring_, I said, _ boring_.”

Kamukura’s already asleep, but Hinata sighs and says, “yeah, he heard you, can we cut it out now? I’m back. And I already said I won’t do it again.”

Komaeda hums, lips pressed into Hinata’s shoulder before he removes himself completely and steps around to face Hinata properly. “You promised _ everyone_, which is fine. We all believe you, and we’ll put safeties in place should your little spike start to droop again,” he tugs Hinata’s hair, then settles his hands over Hinata’s face to keep him from looking away in embarrassment. “But you didn’t promise _ me_.”

“Th-that included _ yo _ -”

“I think I deserve my own promise, I _ am _ the one who almost died to get you back after all,” he teases.

“Shit,” Hinata’s gaze was already held on Komaeda’s throat, “I’m so s -”

“_No _ drooping. I don’t care about that, an apology is _ completely _ useless to me.”

Hinata’s hands settle over Komaeda’s wrists. Komaeda notes the way his thumb brushes against the connection between his fleshy forearm and cold metal wrist. “You’re so annoying,” he mumbles. “What kind of promise are you looking for? I know it’s not the same one I gave everyone else.”

“Actually, I thought about it, I have two!”

Hinata looks up, “you’re pushing it,” he says, and then grins.

“Maybe I have _ three_, then.”

“Just tell me, already. Even if I _ could _ read minds, I’d never understand _ yours_.”

“Liar.”

“Komaeda…”

“Nagito.”

“Huh?”

“How come that _ thing _ gets to call you Hajime, hm? We’ve been together a while, on this island. Don’t you think I should get to call you Hajime instead? I know I’m _ trash _ -” Hinata grimaces at the joke “- but I’m better than _ that thing_, right?”

“Right, fine, say it.”

“Hajime,” Komaeda says, and grins when Hinata’s face turns bright red. “_Hajime_, let's talk about _ her_.”

“Huh?”

“Nanami Chiaki. We all knew her, and we feel that loss when we think of her. You don’t get to let _ that _ be the one that speaks about _ her_. So, you’re talking to _ me _ first, before anything else, and I’ll remind you that I almost suffocated the last time you let that black hole come out the last time you despaired over _ her_. It’s an insult to her, anyway, you know.”

“You don’t get it, he also _ feels _ -”

“I don’t care.” Komaeda’s look is hard, but it softens quickly and he shifts his arms to rest across Hinata’s shoulders. “Even if we can’t get her back, that doesn’t mean you get to fall into despair. _Your _ hope shines so bright when you let it, it’s like the sun. To _ everyone _ here, not just me.”

“That’s not -”

“Sh. No arguments.”

“She’s the sun.”

“We can have two suns.”

Hinata tugs at Komaeda’s hair. “So, d’you wanna be the moon?”

“Oh, I don’t deserve such a high position.”

“Look, I need a promise too. I’m going to also need _ you _ to stop provoking him if he _ does _ come out. When we figure out how, _ he’s _ the one who’s going to have to find her. And you’re going to have to trust us.”

Komaeda makes a face. “I’ll let it come out for that, and I’ll trust you, but I’m not trusting _ it_.”

Hinata sighs. “Alright, whatever, what’s the third promise?”

“Hm? Oh, I was lying about that.”

Hinata shakes his head, “oh no, you promised me _ three _ promises. I want a third or all of this is moot or whatever, _ Nagito_.”

“Fine,” he says, and leans in. “Promise you’ll kiss my neck until it gets better.” He loves the way Hinata’s cheek turns warm under his right hand. It makes him grin, makes him laugh.

**EPILOGUE (II)  
** **or: when the day met the night**

It continues here: 

A dark room, _ beeping beeping beeping _ softly or roughly or somewhere in between and fifteen pairs of eyes (fourteen and a half?) settled upon a computer screen. As much as they all dislike it, _ he _ was the one who got to speak to her first. 

(“You’re back,” he hums.

“Ah, amazing. Which one are you?”

“We’re both, I suppose.” Hinata is the second to speak.

“Ah, you grew into both names. Amazing.”

Komaeda leans over their shoulder, rolls his eyes. He’s the third to speak to her. “Don’t _ encourage _ him. Hajime will start letting him come out more often. And _ I’ve _ already had enough of him for a lifetime.”

_ Beep beep beep_, it sounds like a laugh. 

“How cold.”)

**EPILOGUE (III)  
** **or: black hole / sun**

It continues like this: him and him, _them_. Hinata and Kamukura. 

And Komaeda, and the words spoken between them.

And Togami and Hanamaru and Koizumi and Pekoyama and Mioda and Saionji and Tsumiki and Nidai and Tanaka and Kuzuryuu and Sonia and Souda and Owari

(and maybe a little bit of Munakata and Mitarai)

and a file like the sun that Komaeda admits even makes the black hole shine. Nanami. (He wonders if he should be jealous, he thinks he’s more jealous when it’s Kamukura standing there calm and cold and not Hinata and Nanami

shining _ warm_.)

**Author's Note:**

> songs referenced
> 
> title & prologue II: wooden houses by elsinore  
part 1 (I): two birds by regina spektor  
part 1(II): lethargy by andrew bird  
part 2: anti-venom by uss  
part 3 & part 5 (II): one day robots will cry by cobra starship  
part 4 (I): hallelujah by panic at the disco  
part 4 (II): cough it out by the front bottoms  
part 5 (I): stressed out by twenty one pilots  
epilogue (I): sober up by ajr  
epilogue (II): when the day met the night by panic at the disco  
epilogue (III): black hole sun by soundgarden


End file.
